


Operation: Smash That Snowglobe

by truthtakestime



Category: Psych
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Holidays, Humor, Lassie is paranoid, Presents, Shawn is sneaky, mall, mall santas, random mild illness, santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 08:31:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truthtakestime/pseuds/truthtakestime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By clocking out early, Lassiter could get Chief Vick off his back and keep both eyes on the over-grown child so that he didn't do something stupid or dangerous or potentially life-threatening (like buying Carlton <i>another</i> snow-globe). He'd hate to have to explain that  to O'Hara. <i>“Oh yes, I shot your boyfriend because he gave me an intentionally antagonistic gift. Guess you'll be spending Christmas in the hospital with him.”</i>  He doubted she'd be pleased with that.</p><p>Lassiter gets a bit to paranoid about Shawn's activities around Christmas...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation: Smash That Snowglobe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DinerGuy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinerGuy/gifts).



> Written for the lovely DinerGuy as part of Psychfic's Secret Santa. She asked for “fluffy friendship, adventure, whump, comedy, mainly Lassie, but Buzz and Henry would be awesome too”. I THINK I covered just about everything...
> 
> Merry Christmas!!

_December 23_

_10:48am_

_SBPD_

Spencer left the station before noon. 

If it had been a normal workday, Carlton would have thought nothing of it. That was just what the younger Spencer did; he arrived late and left early and generally got in the way. But on days where he was not called in and there were massive amounts of paper-work to do, the ridiculous 'psychic' would waltz in and spend the day very studiously _not_ helping, chatting with O'Hara and trying to distract her and throwing popcorn or M &M's at the head detective himself. 

Today, they had no cases, no calls, nothing even the least bit exciting to do. This was a Paper Work Day. There was absolutely no reason – other than to be as annoying as possible – for Spencer to come in, spend exactly seven-point-two minutes chatting quietly with O'Hara, and to slip out again in a subtle and utterly suspicious way. 

Spencer was like a child, Carlton knew; he needed attention. For him to enter the station with a complete lack of flail was disorienting at first, segueing into downright unnatural. 

Carlton glanced at his desk and the mountain of files taking up a significant chunk of space. He frowned. The paper-work could wait; thwarting Spencer's ridiculous antics was much more urgent. Besides, the Chief had been insisting that he take a day off for the holidays or some such nonsense. As if he could afford to let Spencer run rampant for even a day! By clocking out early, he could get Chief Vick off his back and keep both eyes on the over-grown child so that he didn't do something stupid or dangerous or potentially life-threatening (like buying Carlton _another_ snow-globe). He'd hate to have to explain that to O'Hara. _“Oh yes, I shot your boyfriend because he gave me an intentionally antagonistic gift. Guess you'll be spending Christmas in the hospital with him.”_ He doubted she'd be pleased with that.

Might as well see if the woman knew what her psychic boyfriend was up to. 

Juliet just smiled when he asked what Spencer had talked to her about. “Well good morning to you too, Carlton. How are you on this fine day?” 

“What? Did some of Spencer's stupid rub off on you while he was here?”

His partner didn't look nearly so frustrated as she should have. “No, I'm just being polite.” She folded her hands on her desk and gave him a patronizing smile. “You seem stressed; is everything okay?”

“It would be, if your psychotic boyfriend wasn't out there somewhere plotting my imminent demise.” He was shocked when Juliet let out a giggle that was not at all becoming for a mature and serious detective. Spencer was definitely influencing her. “There is nothing funny about this, O'Hara! He could be out there setting a trap for me, or killing himself in the process, or God only knows what else!” 

With visible effort, O'Hara composed herself and (almost) wiped the grin off her face. “Carlton, _relax_. Shawn is not plotting your death, doom, demise, or any other crime against you beginning with 'd'.”

Didn't she get that this was serious? “Look, that crazy boyfriend of yours isn't acting normal.” Juliet raised an eyebrow. “Well, he's acting abnormal even for a Spencer,” Carlton amended. “He is acting sneaky, and slippery, and suspicious...” 

“Nice alliteration!” McNab called from down the hall, flashing a smile and a thumbs-up in the detective's general direction. 

Carlton would have to deal with him later. “ _Anyways_ , he's up to some sort of mischief, and I intend to find out what _before_ my desk gets filled with snow-globes. Again.” 

Juliet's patronizing smile was replaced by her sympathetic and slightly concerned one. He had come to fear that smile. “That was years ago! Carlton, don't you think you might be getting just a little paranoid about this?”

“That's it!” Spencer _must_ have brainwashed O'Hara. Had to be; on any other day, his partner was a sensible and trustworthy ally. Clearly that insane psychic had dragged her over to the dark side, probably with chocolate-chip-pineapple cookies of doom. “I don't know how you got caught up in his little scheme, O'Hara, but I'm not going to fall for the 'innocent little me' act. If you won't tell me where he is, I'll find him myself!” 

For the second time that morning, Juliet was much less intimidated by his outburst than she would have been even a year ago. Maybe some of the shine had finally been knocked off his badge (Fine time! Though he supposed it was a good thing; all of that blinding hero-worship stuff was creepy!). “Will you please tell him to call me when you find him? I'm going to have to reschedule our dinner date tonight since I'm going to be the one stuck doing your filing.” She was rolling her eyes and grinning as Carlton stomped away. As if he and the kid were going to be _talking_ when he finally caught up with him. 

“Excuse me, Detective Lassiter?” McNab was standing in his path suddenly, and Carlton could practically see his shiny badge glowing in the rookie's eyes. 

He sighed. “McNab, move.” 

“Sorry, sir.” Buzz made no attempt to step out of the detective's path. He opened his mouth to repeat the order _strongly_ , but McNab cut him off before he had the chance. “I just happened to overhear part of your conversation with Detective O'Hara, and I know where Shawn is going.” 

“What?” Suddenly, his irritation with the enthusiastic young officer was a thing of the past. “Where is he? How do you know?”

“He mentioned it to me; I was coming in as he was leaving the station. He said something about the mall and Christmas presents?”

A huge, mall-sized snow-globe filled Carlton's mind's eye. He shuddered. _No way_. “McNab, you're coming with me. We're going to find that over-grown excuse for a child and put an end to this madness.”

“Can I drive?”

Lassiter raised an impressive eyebrow. “Yeah, when pigs fly. My case, my rules.” 

“So this is a case, now?” McNab looked primed and ready to pull a little pad out of his pocket and start taking notes. 

Good. Maybe he'd learn something today. “You bet your badge it's a case. Operation 'Smash That Snow-Globe” begins _now_.” 

“That doesn't sound like a very official case,” Buzz commented as he followed the detective obediently to the car. 

Carlton drove. 

~

_December 23_

_11:15am_

_Mall Plaza_

Crouching behind a large potted plant, Carlton scanned the shopping area. There were all sorts of wackos out at the mall today; so far he'd counted eighty ugly Santa hats and thirty-two people wearing elf shoes, the kind with the ridiculous jingle-bells on the toes that were giving him a headache. But with all of the certified crazies out there, he'd still seen no sign of the errant psychic. 

“Maybe he went into one of the stores,” McNab suggested helpfully, crouching down beside Carlton. “I think he said something about buying a new marshmallow gun last week.” 

“That is ridiculous,” Carlton scoffed, narrowing his eyes at the crowd. He hated the mall. _Especially_ around Christmas time. There were so many people rushing around and getting in the way and causing potentially hazardous situations. And unfortunately, the mall security – huh, amateurs – insisted that he keep his weapon holstered while in the building. Ridiculous! It would be so much easier to do his Christmas shipping or to locate wayward psychics if he let the glock do some of the talking. 

“If he's not in this area,” Buzz was still yammering on in his ear, “then he _has_ to be in one of the stores.” 

“Well _obviously_. Doesn't take a genius to figure that one out, McNab! But he'll be searching for snow-globes, not playthings. Just you watch.” 

“Okay...” McNab clearly didn't understand the distinction. “Well, it wouldn't hurt to check it out,” he hedged after a moment of blessed silence. 

Oh, perfect. The young officer was losing _his_ healthy fear, too. He'd have to fix that after they caught up with Spencer. “McNab, if you want to go look in the toys store, get it out of your system now, please. You can even go visit Santa if you want.” 

“Santa? But he's all the way across the mall.”

“You have legs, don't you? Either go away or shut up for five minutes so I can _think_.” 

It was probably a _bit_ harsh, but it worked. Buzz edged back from Carlton and shut his mouth. He also, Carlton noticed, barely contained himself for five minutes before leaping to his feet and heading off in the direction of 'Santa's Village'.

Lassiter couldn't resist another shudder. He had never really liked the idea of a mall Santa; they all had a suspicious look about them. Shifty. Like they had something to hide...

He blinked, and shook himself briefly to make sure that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. Across the way, wandering outside of an electronics store, was a very accurate representation of the aforementioned image. Dressed in a full-on Santa suit complete with fake stomach and a long white beard, he loitered outside of the shop and cast his gaze around the mall, the very _picture_ of shifty. And also familiar, somehow.

It _had_ to be Spencer. And of course it fit, didn't it? This wasn't just about snow-globes anymore; this year he was going for the full package! Well, if he thought that he would succeed in his mission to terrify Carlton right out of Santa Barbara – he'd never been so irritated by the name of their city – this Christmas, he had another thing coming!

Carefully, moving with all of the stealth learned from years of police work, Carlton made his way across the crowded space toward 'Spen-Santa'. He debated calling on Buzz for backup, but the rookie was probably halfway to the real mall Santa by now. Besides, he was too green for this. This wasn't a simple arrest or a simple murder investigation; this was mind-games on the highest level, and McNab wasn't ready for that kind of dirty playing. No, it was up to Carlton, moving with careful easy through the busy throngs of shoppers, approaching his prey slowly...slowly...

“Lassiter?”

It was then that Carlton realized that he had grossly misjudged the situation. The man in the Santa suit standing there, staring at him with wide-eyed horror was indeed a Spencer. 

Henry Spencer. 

“ _Henry_?” he gasped incredulously. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Keep your voice down!” Henry Spen- _Santa_ hissed, grabbing Carlton's arm and tugging him behind yet another potted plant. “Do you want to blow the whole operation?” 

“Operation?” Carlton wracked his brain for any mall-related sting that the Department might have been running that week, and came up dry. “What is this, a special case?”

“What?” Henry stared at him like he'd sprouted an extra head. “No! Not that kind of operation; I'm waiting for Shawn.” 

Were they on the same page, then? “What sort of trouble do _you_ think he's causing?” Carlton asked cautiously, not sure how much of his motivation to reveal to the older man. “And why are you wearing that ridiculous suit?”

“The suit serves the dual purpose of a disguise so that I can finally beat my son at the our little Christmas game, and a treat for the kiddies when my shift starts in half an hour. And if you ever tell anyone about _either_ of those things, it's going to be a cold day at the office.” He settled a threatening glare on Carlton. 

While he was shocked that _Henry Spencer_ , of all people, was working as a mall Santa on the weekends, Carlton decide that it would be beneficial to his own health not to make a big deal about that part. “You should have talked to my mustache guy,” he commented instead, tugging on the cheap fake curls. “He's a real master, this guy.” 

Henry slapped his hand away. “Do you know where Shawn is?” he demanded. “I figure that you must have followed him here; you're way too edgy to be shopping for Marlowe, and there's no other reason I can think of that, _you_ would set foot in a mall.”

“If you must know, I followed him to make sure that he wasn't causing any trouble.”

“My son, not causing trouble?” Henry snorted fondly. “Yeah, that'll be the day.” 

Could no one take this seriously? “I saw him conspiring with O'Hara this morning,” he insisted. “He's got something planned for me, I know it. Some horrendous or terrifying gift that he's searching for, trying to throw me off my game. Well, it's not going to work! I am going to find him and smack – _talk_ some sense into him. I refuse to let him get the better of me!” 

From the way that Henry was looking at him, he was definitely concerned. “Son, you're looking awfully flushed. Is everything alright?”

“Why do people keep asking me that?” Carlton demanded, not about to admit that his vision had started to swim from rage. “I am just _fine_!” He took a wobbly step forward, and promptly collapsed onto the ugly, germ-y tiles of the mall floor. 

~

_December 25_

_10:53pm_

_County Hospital_

“Lyme disease?” Juliet repeated, pushing Shawn's legs firmly off of Lassiter's sheets and seating herself on his lap. 

Carlton nodded, feeling embarrassed at admitting it out loud – not that he'd admit _that_. “Apparently, I picked it up last week when we were chasing around after your crazy boyfriend in the woods overnight.” He glared at Shawn, who gave a cheeky grin. “The doctor said that I was probably bitten by a tick and didn't notice.” 

“But isn't it all worth it, to have caught the bad guy and put him away?” Shawn insisted. 

“I doubt you would be so cavalier about my very serious health problem if I'd tried to strangle you in the mall.” 

“Hey, been there, done that, dodged that bullet. And axe. And other projectile weapons.” Shawn shrugged and wrapped his arms around Juliet's waist. “All is forgiven.” 

“It's a good thing that the doctor caught this quickly,” Juliet cut in, smoothly turning the conversation away from her partner's less-recent descent into temporary insanity. He felt an unexpected surge of gratefulness; maybe she really could keep Spencer in line. “That means that they'll be able to treat it, and you hopefully won't have problems like this in the future.”

“I hope not,” Carlton agreed, shuddering. He never wanted to go through something like that again. The nightmares alone – so many snow-globes! – had nearly driven him out of his mind, even before the paranoia set in. 

“It's a shame that you have to be stuck up in here over Christmas, though. We missed you at dinner tonight.” 

“Who cooked?” 

“I did,” Shawn declared proudly. “We even brought you leftovers, see?” He reached into a plastic bag that he'd dropped by the chair – completely unsanitary – and pulled out a plastic container. 

Carlton made a face. “If you did the cooking, I'm glad that I missed it.” 

“We _all_ helped,” Juliet assured him firmly, raising an eyebrow at Shawn. The psychic gave an innocent shrug and dropped the container back into the bag. “And I told the boys that we would be having another Christmas, just for you, when you get out of the hospital.” 

Lassiter was still trying to figure out an appropriate response that didn't give away the fact that he was quite touched by the gesture when the young and utterly terrifying nurse he'd been assigned barged in without knocking. “Visiting hours ended nearly an hour ago,” she said firmly, giving Shawn and Juliet a look of disdain. “I'm going to have to ask you two to leave.” 

“Oh, but we just got here!” Shawn complained, before the woman turned the full force of her irritated gaze on him. “Though we'll be back tomorrow anyways, so might as well get some decent rest before then. We'll be right out, I promise.” 

“You have two minutes,” she grunted.

Juliet slid off of Shawn's lap and collected their things, storing the container of leftovers they'd brought into the small fridge at the foot of Carlton's bed. In a gesture that was surprisingly gentlemanly, Shawn helped her into her coat before slipping into his. There was a moment of brief and awkward goodbye before they left, and Lassiter finally had a moment of peace and quiet. 

He was just settling in to dream about anything but snow-globes, when Shawn poked his head back in. He rolled his eyes. “Spencer, aren't you supposed to be vacating the premises?”

“Yeah, yeah. I forgot something before we left.” He tugged a small, obnoxiously bright present out of his pocket and tossed it across the room into Carlton's lap. “Merry Christmas, Lassie.” He winked before ducking out again. This time, the door stayed closed behind him. 

Carlton studied the package for a moment, shaking it by his ear and determining it too small and light to be anything that he'd potentially have to hunt the psychic down for. With a shrug, he ripped off the eye-searing paper and opened the tiny cardboard box it had covered. 

Inside was a note and a key-chain, printed with a blackmail-worthy picture of him whispering with Henry Spen-Santa in the mall. How had he even gotten close enough to take that?

Not sure whether to be pleased or irritated, he scanned the note. 

_Lassie,_

_I saw this happening – pre-faint, of course – and couldn't resist commemorating the event. I got 'em made up to match for you and my dad; he never saw it coming! I WIN AGAIN!_

_Merry Christmas, and don't worry; Buzz and I smashed all the snow-globes, so you can have a decent night's sleep._

_~ Shawn Spen-Santa, Psychic Detective and Jackal of Stealth_

Shaking his head, Carlton smirked and closed his eyes. 

He dreamed of Marlowe and victory over smashed snow-globes.

**Author's Note:**

> I looked up various causes for the sort of intense paranoia that Lassiter started displaying, and Lyme came up. However I have no actual medical knowledge, so please forgive any inaccuracies.


End file.
